The Talebearer
by erunyauve
Summary: *Complete* A very neglected son of Finarfin has a moment in the sun.


**Author's Notes:** Tolkien's 'last word on the subject[s]' of Gil-galad's parentage and Finarfin's family tree is assumed. (ref _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor')  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of Lirulinië, mother of Edhellos (we can assume she had a mother, but Tolkien does not name her). Translations of Elvish and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**The Talebearer  
  
**

Tirion, 1495th Year of the Trees  
  
[Quenya names used in this section]  
Angrod: Angaráto  
Aegnor: Aicanáro  
Fingon: Findecáno  
Edhellos: Eldalótë  
Orodreth: Artaher  
Aredhel: Irissë [1]  
  
"Angaráto!"  
  
Preoccupied, he turned instinctively at the sound of his name, though his thoughts continued on their way.  
  
"You will have need of light." Aicanáro had taken a torch, one of many burning upon Túna that night. Unsettled already by the events of this never-ending night, both elves jumped at the unfamiliar play of shadows thrown by the torchlight as they left the King's Court. "You are not reconsidering?"  
  
Angaráto grimaced. "I gave my word to Findecáno," he said, as if that settled the matter. Just moments ago, the bonds of friendship, the boil of revenge and the promise of new lands to explore had filled him with boldness. He wondered where that certainty had gone, for he felt now only queasiness - not the giddy excitement of a new undertaking, but the unpleasant sensation of having drunk too much wine. [2]  
  
"I thought that after your son spoke -."  
  
They turned up the winding approach to his home. Shops crowded close upon the narrow street, their apertures yawning in utter blackness. Like accusing eyes, they frowned upon the elves as they passed, and Angaráto wished for better light. "Still, Artaher follows, for love and for devotion to our brother."  
  
He was proud of his son, proud that he had spoken his mind, though it would earn him no admiration from those who already doubted him - chiefly Angaráto's half-cousins and their mad father. Under the intoxicating sway of Fëanáro's speech, the princes of the Noldor had cast aside wisdom; Angaráto could claim no immunity to their folly. Like dominoes they had fallen, bonds of friendship and blood proving more tenacious than their love for the Valar.  
  
Most grievously, he had overlooked a bond he had sworn before Eru to uphold. This Aicanáro could not understand - he came and went as he pleased, a member of his brother's household, yet not tied to it. He was free to act as he thought right, without regard for obligations, for he had none. Angaráto had spoken to their mother briefly; Fëanáro's fervor found no resonance in her Telerin heart, nor could it overcome love for Olwë her father. "His brothers and a son, he forsook to come to Aman," she reminded Angaráto. "It would break his heart to be sundered also from his daughter." She would not follow the Noldor, and her choice would only compound her husband's misgivings. [3]  
  
Likewise would Angaráto's misgivings multiply, should Eldalótë remain in Tirion. He had touched her mind briefly across the milling crowd on Tuna, but had no sense of her intentions.  
  
He found her in the drawing room, every lamp lit to drive off the darkness. "My mother will not leave Tirion," she announced.  
  
This did not surprise him much; of infinitely proper Noldorin stock, Lirulinië regularly hosted Manwë and Varda. Content with her stature and life in Tirion, she had oft condemned the agitators who stirred trouble among the Noldor. High King or no, Fëanáro could not intimidate this redoubtable matron.  
  
Eldalótë had not fallen far from that tree. This was a lady whose immaculate coiffure and dress were cited by an exasperated Anairë as example to Irissë; this was a lady who painted watercolors for children as a vocation. Of similar disposition, were mother and son - introspective and even-tempered, in contrast to Angaráto's more volatile moods. With time and the right nurturing, Artaher would develop Eldalótë's self-possession, Angaráto believed. He did not wonder at his son's resistance to Fëanáro's revolt. Angaráto guessed that Noldorin discontent would likewise find little purchase in his wife.  
  
Their marriage was yet young, by the standards of immortal beings. Their son had reached his majority some time ago, and still having the will and desire, they spoke of another child. Yet, they had spoken so in the golden light of Laurelin waxing, not under this heavy darkness. Disaster had split their lives into two parts: before and after.  
  
Angaráto knelt before his wife, as nervous and uncertain as he had felt when first he asked for her hand. Unconsciously, he flicked his tongue over dry lips. "And you? What does your heart bid you do?"  
  
"My heart bids me stay." Eldalótë bent forward to kiss the golden head that fell forward in shattered disappointment. "Look at me, _meldanya_," she said softly. With difficulty, the elf lifted his head, his mind reeling with want of air, for he could draw no breath. "Yet the heart must go, at times, where wisdom would forestall it, for is not its true master love?" [4]  
  
Even as he blinked to clear his vision of relief's tears, Angaráto knew he must now answer for all that might befall his wife on this mad quest. Artaher, if he yet wavered, would find resolve in his mother's choice, and so Angaráto bore also the burden of his son's fate. Such selfishness appalled him, yet he had not the strength to do otherwise, lest he falter in his own resolve. If Eldalótë remained in Tirion, he did not know that he could leave her.  
  
**Hithlum, 7th Year of the Sun**  
  
_"Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves!"_ [5]  
  
Taking flight from the council, Angrod rode hard until he had left Fingolfin's camp far behind - and quite out of the range of elven hearing. Dismounting, he allowed himself a roar of frustration and fury. The horse watched him warily. Clearly, this elf had gone quite mad.  
  
"You think me unreasonable, Málrui?" Angrod asked the horse. "Is it not enough that we have made peace with the slayers of my mother's kin, but they are so bold as to make me the villain?"  
  
He had put aside his doubts and embraced reconciliation between the houses, for though quick to anger, Angrod was quick to forgive and cast aside grudges as unnecessary burdens. Forgiveness of the ungrateful and impenitent, however, strained his good nature. He scowled at the empty lands around him, as if Beleriand itself were at fault, guilty of enticing him from his pleasant life in Tirion.  
  
It should have been lovely here in this valley. Yes, Morgoth had assaulted the very crust of Arda, pushed it to expel its bedrock in defense of Angband. But these gaping wounds Aulë had carved into majestic spires, making beauty out of Arda marred. On a clear day, it seemed almost as if one could touch the sheer facets of stone, and so touch the hand of Aulë himself.  
  
Yet today the upper airs brooded low upon the northlands, grey and heavy with mist. The snow-capped peaks hid behind a curtain of cloud, and Angrod almost doubted that the mountains had ever existed at all. An icy, damp wind howled from the north, reminding him unpleasantly of the Helcaraxë. What right had Caranthir to question his loyalty to his kin? What right had any son of Fëanor to question the loyalty of those they had left behind to perish on the ice?  
  
Doubt niggled at Finarfin's second son, doubt engendered by more, he hoped, than dislike of Caranthir. Plain among a people who prized beauty, the ruddy-faced Fëanorian had ever regarded Finarfin's much-admired golden brood with jealousy - the two elves had quarreled before this day. Angrod, as his mother often reminded him, proved easy to provoke - his temper rose readily to the bait cast by his cousin.  
  
Caranthir and his brothers had sworn no oath to avenge their grandfather. Somehow, Angrod realized, the descendants of Indis had overlooked this detail in their eagerness to make peace. The sons of Fëanor had no interest but recoup of the Silmarilli, and had they not pledged to wreak vengeance upon all who might oppose them? "We are fools to treat with them at all," Angrod told the horse. Should they not name their enemies, and therefore be vigilant?  
  
Caranthir had found a tender mark, reminding Angrod of his duplicity before Thingol's court. He, too, had defied the Valar and followed those who had slain his mother's kin. He would sooner face the censure of the Sindar than endure the censure of his conscience, but, as Edhellos would later remind him, he did not act alone. He did not wish to betray Fingon and the part his friend had played in the slaughter at Alqualondë. He had no right to bring the wrath of the Fëanorians upon Finrod and Aegnor - or upon his son.  
  
Still, the contentious words of his half-cousin festered in his heart, and Angrod knew that whatever the cost, he would not act further to protect Caranthir and his brothers. "If he will name me a talebearer," he swore, "a talebearer I shall be."  
  
**Doriath, 67th Year of the Sun**  
  
Rumor had reached the ears of Thingol. Angrod evinced little surprise; he had foreseen that less prudent elves among their people would not remain silent; he had known that the common folk of the Noldor suffered the same anguish and resentments as did their lords.  
  
Confronted by the Sindarin king, he could not, as could his sister, lie, nor even remain silent, as did his brother. In doing so, they denied their own guilt. In doing so, they denied the guilt of Fëanor's sons. In doing so, they placed the goodwill of their half-cousins above the grievances of their mother's kin. [6]  
  
In consequence, they were sent straightaway from Doriath. "I had no choice, Ingoldo," he spoke, before his brother could begin his remonstrance.  
  
Finrod murmured to his mount, slowing the horse's pace to match that of Málrui. "It is better that the truth has come from us, lest we be held complicit in the crimes of our kin," he sighed wearily.  
  
Angrod let out a bitter laugh. "I do not think Thingol finds us blameless in this moment."  
  
"Neither shall the sons of Fëanor."  
  
Angrod sent his brother a sharp look. "We are not children, and our cousins committed no prank of youth. All that comes to them, they have wrought in the blood of others."  
  
"Yet, you said nothing of Fingon's host." [7]  
  
He winced. "It was not intentional…but I cannot regret it. He has chastised himself enough, Ingoldo."  
  
"But do you not see how the Doom already begins to work? _'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.'_ So spoke Mandos." [8]  
  
"And what of treason against our mother's kin?" Angrod answered hotly.  
  
"I do not fault you!" Finrod cried. "Still, Morgoth but awaits dissention between us to twist matters in his favor. It will be an evil day, _muindor_, when our cousins turn against us. [9]  
  
"We, too, are under the Doom," Finrod continued. "All that we build shall turn to dust. A fool's errand, is this Exile, that shall end in death for all of us."  
  
"We shall not evade the Doom through lies," Angrod insisted. "And I cannot believe all is purposeless - did we not learn as children that though evil be intertwined with _Arda Hastaina_, by the will of Ilúvatar, evil is turned to good?" [10, 11]  
  
Finrod's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "From me, nothing shall remain. But strange fates await us all, I think." Finrod's horse had stopped of its own accord, and the elf looked westward, seeing nothing of the forest.  
  
"The trust of the Noldor shall come from hearts least regarded," he continued. "I do not give up hope for you and yours, _muindor_, for if your words tonight were not the plea for pardon the Valar would hear, then nothing could be so."  
  
Silently, Angrod thanked his brother for the comfort he offered. Nothing could alleviate the guilt he bore, a guilt he felt more keenly than he felt any other: that he had led his wife and son into Doom and uncertainty. Yet in far-sighted Finrod's words, he found a candle of hope - it burned not brightly, but steadily, its flame nourished by belief in the Valar and their love for the Children of Eru.  
  
Angrod looked up, bathing his face in Anor's warm glow. He murmured to his horse; they had fallen far behind Aegnor. As the two elves hurried forth, Angrod noticed sounds and sights his troubled mind had not before registered. Spring had come to Brethil, and young green shoots pushed up from the ground. Tender leaves sprouted from the beech trees and birds called in happy return to their northern home.  
  
For the moment, it seemed glorious to be in Beleriand.  
  


* * *

  
[1] Irissë  

    This is a very unsatisfactory Quenya name for Aredhel, as Tolkien later changed her Sindarin name from Isfin to Aredhel, making Irissë obsolete. However, he did not give us a Quenya version of that name.  
  

[2] 'I gave my word to Findecáno'  

    As told in _The Silmarillion_, their friendship with Fingon prompted Angrod and Aegnor to join the Exiles. Orodreth, we are told, went out of loyalty to Finrod, but I've assumed that his father's decision would have played some part as well - Tolkien never revised this part of the tale after he reorganized Finarfin's family tree.  
  

[3] 'Fëanáro's fervor found no resonance in her Telerin heart'  

    _'…the Teleri…asserted that most of the Noldor in Aman itself were in heart Avari, and returned to Middle-earth when they discovered their mistake… .'_ (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 381 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[4] _meldanya_  

    my love (Q)  
  

[5] _'Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves!'_  

    (ref. _The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Return of the Noldor' p 128 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[6] 'he could not, as could his sister, lie'  

    Galadriel is not quite honest regarding the reasons for which the Noldor returned to Beleriand - she conveniently skips over her own purpose: to find a realm of her own to rule. Moreover, when asked about the rumors, she essentially denies them by omission. Melian nonetheless guesses that there is more to the story. Asked point-blank if she is hiding something, Galadriel offers a weak 'maybe' - every child knows that 'maybe' is an evasion of the truth, as near to a lie as one can come without, in the strictest sense of the word, lying. (ref. _The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Noldor in Beleriand' pp 147-8 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[7] 'Yet, you said nothing of Fingon's host.'  

    It seems possible that Thingol never knew of Fingon's part in Alqualondë, as he allowed Beleg and Mablung to join Fingon's forces in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  
  

[8] _'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.'_  

    (ref. _The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Flight of the Noldor' p 96 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[9] _muindor_  

    brother  
  

[10] _Arda Hastaina_  

    Arda Marred (Q)  
  

[11] 'evil is turned to good'  

    _'[Manwë] must have grasped with great clarity…that it was the essential mode of the process of "history" in Arda that evil should constantly arise, and that out of it new good should constantly come.'_ (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Myths Transformed', Part iii p 402 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

  
  



End file.
